Breakfast
by TheCuriousCrusader
Summary: Moriarty insists that Sherlock stays for breakfast after they spend the night together. However, Sherlock is dubious of Moriarty's ever changing temper and so takes precautions when he begins to fear for his life. Sheriarty! (Might change to M rating)


**A/N: Something a little different from me. I hope you enjoy it and I would love to hear what you think! Still Sheriarty of course and there will be some dark undertones such as implications of sex and violence. I might continue depending on what you guys think! I apologise for any isses with characterisation.  
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It was late afternoon now and Jim was once again sat up in bed with Sherlock lightly dozing against his side.

"Come on, my pet" Jim said in a soft voice, a tone which suggested he was growing weary of the current situation and needed to get up and do something, probably something quite diabolical. Sherlock's eyes fluttered open and Jim smirked lightly to himself, pleased the other man seemed to have accepted his new position.

"What time is it?" Sherlock asked as he rubbed his eyes and a few stray curls fell over his face. With all the care in the world, Jim reached out and brushed them back gently, his fingers lingering on the side of Sherlock's face for a few moments as the other man stared up at him in wonder and confusion.

"Time for us to eat" Jim said as he regained his stony exterior once more. He stood up from the bed and pulled on a robe.

"I ate yesterday" Sherlock mumbled as he sat up to and rubbed his face so his back was turned to Jim. The criminal looked at the pale and flawless skin and resisted the urge to crawl up behind Sherlock and dig his nails into it, making him bleed and kissing him profusely.

"You should eat everyday" Jim said as he quickly snapped his head away to stare at the wall instead. "I need to keep you strong for when I need you again, or rather, when you need me"

Sherlock looked around as he was halfway through redressing into his suit which had been abandoned the night before.

"I should go, John will have certainly noticed my absence by now" he said as he buttoned up his shirt.

"Damn, John!" Jim yelled as he threw his fist back against the wall behind him. "He doesn't do all the things I do for you" he seethed through gritted teeth "I give you _everything, _pleasure you've never felt before, and what do you do me? Nothing, you just leave when the moment takes you"

Sherlock had looked shocked but then cleared his throat and finished by pulling on his jacket. "I'm sorry" he said despite himself and Jim softened instantly, his fist unclenching and dropping loosely to his side. "Perhaps some breakfast would be nice" Sherlock added quietly.

"Good" Jim said with a ghost of a smile "Good, I like it when you stay" and with that he floated out of the room.

Sherlock stood for a moment, considering the other man's words, before feeling obliged to follow.

Sherlock – for once – was stumped by how Moriarty appeared to make the places he lived in so homely. The criminal liked to move around a lot so as to cover his tracks and barely stayed in the same place for a month. Yet as Sherlock entered the kitchen he found the other man almost dancing around the counter tops as he boiled the kettle, put some bread in the toaster and placed pots of preserves on the already laid table.

"You've erm…you've really gone all out" Sherlock said uncertainly as he shuffled into the room. There was something so uncanny about seeing Jim in a good mood, a mood he was usually only ever in when murder was involved; if anything this made Sherlock more cautious.

"Well you know I aim to please" Moriarty shrugged with a sickeningly sweet smile "Usually myself, but I also like to entertain sometimes, and I think I certainly did last night" he threw a wink at Sherlock over his shoulder.

The detective edged further into the room still. He had his arms tactfully placed behind his back in a dignified manner as he leant against the worktop opposite of Moriarty, who at that point had his back turned as he continued to prepare the meal. Out the corner of his eye Sherlock spotted a kitchen knife on the worktop just inches away from his. With a slightly shaky hand he slowly reached out towards the potential weapon and eventually clasped the cold handle – knowing Jim, Sherlock wondered how much blood the instrument had already spilt.

"Alright" Moriarty said loudly and clapped his hands as he pivoted around on his heel. Luckily Sherlock had enough to snatch the knife and hide it behind his back. "Well, don't just stand there, my pet" Moriarty said with a slight patronizing tone "sit down, sit down!" he insisted, waving a hand towards the table.

"Actually I erm… I've changed my mind" Sherlock said in a weak attempt to avoid what he knew was a dangerous situation "I really am not that hungry"

"Oh, but I insist" Moriarty said with a leer and slightly darkened eyes as he approached Sherlock; the detective quickly shoved the knife into his pocket and could only pray Jim had not seen. "Someone has to feed you up, my pet" the criminal said as he placed his hand in the small of Sherlock's back and started to subtly push him towards the table. "More for me to play with then" he added giddily.

"Well I…"

"Sit" Moriarty said sharply then as he tightened his grip on the back of Sherlock's shirt and forced him onto one of the wooden chairs. "You promised me" the criminal added in a childish sulk and Sherlock could barely restrain himself from gulping.

"I suppose I did" the detective confessed.

"Yes, you did" Moriarty reiterated bluntly. He then leant in very closely and whispered in Sherlock's ear "And bad things happen when people break their promises"

Sherlock sucked in a silent breath of air as he felt Moriarty's warm breath tickle against his neck. The criminal leaned in with his teeth bared, looking like he was ready to nip and bite Sherlock again, but the toaster pinged and like some kind of learned behaviour Moriarty seemed to change once more.

"Ah, excellent" he said pleasantly and went over to fetch the toast, leaving Sherlock to try and collect himself once more – he hated Moriarty was the only one who could make him feel like he had lost himself.

The detective placed his hand in his trouser pocket and started twisting the handle of the knife around in his fingers. They all said he would be the cause of a dead body one day, why not Moriarty's? At least then people my actually thank him for it. The man had become the bane of Sherlock's existence, become a threat to the few people he cared for, the spider had to go and then all his flies would drop too.

And yet, as Sherlock played with the knife subtly in his pocket he found he did not have the courage or the heart to do it. He needed Moriarty, it was sickening but true. He was well and truly stuck in the criminal's web, and he had no desire to unravel himself any time soon.

Moriarty turned around then, placing a plate on the table. Sherlock froze, a little wide eyed, his hand still in his pocket.

"Here you go" Moriarty said cheerily – fake or real, Sherlock was not sure anymore – as he moved around and placed a plate in front of the detective. "Well, what's this then?" he asked curiously as noticed Sherlock's hand and his sudden tenseness. Sherlock knew he had been caught, and yet he could do nothing about it. "Is that a knife in your pocket?" Moriarty pondered as he gently touched Sherlock's hand.

With that the criminal dug his nails into the back of Sherlock's hand and ripped it out of his pocket before pushing the knife right up against the detective's neck.

"Or are you just happy to see me?" his change of tone was so deathly Sherlock felt a shiver go down his spine.


End file.
